


A Second Chance at the End of the World

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Arson, Canon Typical Horror, I was depressed when I wrote this, M/M, No beta we die like archival assistants, major character death but not really, sad beginning bittersweet ending, sorry - Freeform, suicidal idealogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They've killed Elias but the world is still ruined. Martin knows how to fix it but can he go through with it? Can he set things right again?(a time travel fix-it fic)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	A Second Chance at the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> my apologies for how depressing this is. i was in a bad place when i wrote this. if you'd like to find me, my account on here is Foxymandy3100 and Sukurarose92 on tumblr. feel free to message me!

The room was finally, blessedly, silent, only the constant white noise of the recorder running was left. 

The creature that had once been Elias Bouchard, once been Jonah Magnus was little more than particles in the air ; vanished, torn apart by the ceaseless watcher’s gaze.  And with his passing, Martin’s worst fears were realized. Killing Elias had solved nothing. The world ever remained a catalog of fear and misery , only  _ now _ _ , _ Jon stood at the middle of it. 

He was no  longer the Archivist, but the Archive itself.

Martin felt his body growing cold and numb to the tips of his clenched fingers, relaxing them and making him go limp. Their journey had truly been for nothing. He could no sooner kill Jon than he could kill himself and yet the world would be the cost if he could not bring  himself to act. 

But the very thought of doing harm to Jon was enough to send him reeling, enough to force him to stumble away a couple of feet before he managed to catch himself on solid ground . Jonah’s throne the backdrop to the vision of horror ahead of him.

Jon, what used to be Jon, stared at him, all eyes and moving void. Gone was the hair Martin had run his hands through on a  particularly long night at the  Scottish cott age when neither of them could sleep, so convinced if they  nodded off , they would wake up alone. Gone were the eyes he stared lovingly into each time they embraced. Gone were the hands that held his as he walked from the lonely, loved and wanted at Jon’s side . Gone was the voice of the man he had fallen in love with.

It was all gone. Everything they had, everything they were, stared at him without recognition. His Jon died in the battle with Elias.  Whatever was left was not the man he knew. 

The shambling horror moved across the floor,  one-part slither,  one-part step, bits of void cascading from the oddly viscous form and vanishing into what looked like ashes but certainly were not.  It approached Martin and with each movement forward Martin moved back. 

He back stepped, putting as much space between them as he could while the horror that was once his lover came closer. Once Martin was pressed to the glass wall of the  panopticon, he could escape no further and waited to meet his fate. Perhaps  he would see Jon on the other side. 

The creature stopped, only a foot of distance between them and stared. It did not move closer, it did not back away, it simply stared, unspeaking, unmoving.  Martin knew it was waiting for  something, but he wasn’t sure what. 

Pain flashed through his side as the horror finally reached out and touched him, a scream ripped from his throat as his mind was attacked. He knew this monster was soaking up his fear  but, in his panic, , he felt a light, a softer touch to his mind. 

Someone was calling him. 

Jon was calling him. 

Suddenly the pain didn’t matter anymore, Jon was alive inside of that creature, that was enough. The voice came again, calling his name, soft and gentle. 

It did not  speak; it had no mouth to do so but Martin felt the voice through him and without words he understood. He understood that this thing , that Jon , had still loved him and needed his help. 

Through the agony of having his mind invaded Martin listened, focused, and let the creature feed him images of what he had to do. 

He couldn’t do it. 

This was Jon’s last request. He was fading away and he asked Martin to kill him. To end everything and set the world back. 

The answer was to destroy the archive, the ceaseless watcher’s domain, With the Panopticon gone there would be a void that would suck in all the other domains and leave the world as it had once been. 

He had to destroy the archives... to destroy Jon. 

He shook his head as he came back to himself, knocking away the touch of the creature to press himself to the glass walls. 

“NO!” he cried. “I won’t do it!” 

The horror only stared, seeming unbothered. It took a step forward and pressed itself to him, reaching out with a burst of pure love that washed over martin like a wave crashing upon rocks at sea. Jon loved him so much.

So why did it feel like he was saying goodbye? 

The tape recorders grew louder, the fuzzy static turning deafening as a voice not meant to be heard by human ears came through. 

**_ “Destroy the Archives And run away _ ** **_. I want you to live, Martin. I love you. _ ** **_ ”  _ **

Martin recognized what it was the moment it began to  speak, and he pressed his hands over his ears  in an attempt to block it  out, but the damage was done, the compulsion settled into his mind and tore at him, driving him to move. 

His body wasn’t his own anymore. He crossed the room, picking up the lighter on the ground , Jon’s silver zippo covered in spider webs, and clutched it to his chest, refusing for only a moment to give in before the pain of being torn apart was too much and he threw the lighter at the creature that was Jon. 

He lit up like paper, letting out a sorrowful sound a s the eye above them shrieked and began to boil in the sky. Martin didn’t wait, the second part of the compulsion spurred him to action and he bolted, unable to watch as the one he loved burned al ive because of him. He ran down the stairwell to the opening of the  panopticon and out into the hellscape to watch as the tower at the end of the world burned. 

Martin legs gave out, whether from running or horror at what he’d done he didn’t know but he couldn’t move anymore. The screams bled together, it may have been Jon screaming, or Him, or the world around him but all Martin knew was the hollow ache in his chest that tore him apa rt and the screaming. 

He laid outside the burnt remains of the Magnus Institute for god knows how long before some kind soul stopped to check on him. Martin was not  alright, but he  dragged himself to his feet anyways. 

It was over  now, and no one would know how much Jon sacrificed to end it... no one would care he was gone, only Martin would be around to remember him. 

He went home. 

His first instinct was to return to the safe house in  Scotland, but he couldn’t bring himself to return to a place with so many memories of Jon. So  instead, he went back to his  London flat and sunk into the couch, taking in the only place without memories of J on. 

The world  continued on outside, but Martin couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. The world was empty without Jon, it wasn’t a world worth living in and yet the compulsion kept him there. 

Jon had wanted him to live, he had sacrificed himself so that Martin could survive. Martin wished, more than anything, that he had burned inside of the panopticon along with Jon. 

Days stretched on as the world pieced itself back together, people went back to their homes,  businesses resumed, and life as they had known it before returned. Martin didn’t know what normal was anymore. 

Normal had been waking up next to Jon. Normal had been shared meals. Normal had been walking hand in hand through hell but being able to do it because they were together. 

Martin didn’t want a new normal. He wanted Jon back. 

He tried. God knows he tried but he couldn’t bring himself to keep going, to eat flavorless food just to survive, to sleep so he wouldn’t lose his mind, to keep moving because he was commanded to. 

As the compulsion faded so did Martin’s will to keep going. 

In the end it was too much. 

Martin placed the bottle in his mouth and pulled the trigger. 

The noise of the pistol forced him upright and he looked around in panic. Had it worked? Was he dead? 

He was in the archives. Was this hell?

The door to the office swung open and Jon emerged from inside, unscarred, with short hair and glasses hung low on his nose. 

“Martin, if you insist on sleeping at your desk then go home. You're less than useless like this”

Jon’s tone was clipped and precise and he stared down his nose at him with thinly  veiled annoyance and Martin felt his heart stop. 

“Hey Marto, Sasha and I are going out for some drinks, you  wanna come along?” 

Tim came out from the break room wearing a bomber jacket and a grin with a stranger Martin didn’t recognize at his side. She smiled at him and Martin wished she were familiar. 

He quickly stood and marched into Jon’s office, picking up the newspaper from the side of the desk where it usually sat. 

June 16, 2016. 

This was before Prentiss attacked. 

Martin felt his heart clench in his chest. Somehow, he had survived. He was four years into the  past, and he had a second chance to save Jon, to save Tim and Sasha and right all the wrongs of the future. 

He vowed this time that he would get it right. He would save Jon if it was the last thing he ever did. 


End file.
